t was all a little bit of a blur.
"Oh god," he heard someone say when they finally found his body on the stairs, "Oh god," and then realized that it was his own voice, and closed his mouth as heads turned to stare at him. Once again, Matsuda thought, he had found just the wrong thing to say.
Near comes along a little after, his little coterie in tow, and Matsuda can't help staring at him. There's something weird about the tiny, teddy-bear-like detective, weird-like-L but worse, or maybe that's just Matsuda's brain still freaking out over the fact that he killed Light and no one seems to want to look at him.
Near's lips purse, slightly, looking down at Light's body. "Well," he says. "It's over now," and Matsuda thinks slightly panicked, you're wrong, and isn't sure whether it's because he expects Light to rise again, impossibly, or because he knows that there's no over, that there's still Misa and Sachiko and Sayu to consider, and what are they going to tell the world…
"There'll have to be an investigation," Near says, coolly, and Aizawa cuts him off, this time.
"No. We'll manage it. You've done enough." The hostility in his eyes is unmistakable, and Matsuda finds that surprising – though he's not sure why. A moment later he understands; or thinks he does: if there were an investigation, Matsuda would have to testify. He would have to talk about everything, tell a jury why he killed Light Yagami.
Aizawa, he thinks gratefully, you are a good friend.
The words come out of his mouth, numbly, before he is aware of making them. "I'll tell Sachiko," he says, and four pairs of eyes blink at him, concerned, like he's going to break. Matsuda shrugs awkwardly. "It's the least I can do."
"Are you sure?" Ide asks, and Matsuda doesn't trust his voice, so he just nods.
~.~
It's not as bad as he thought it would be. There's no yelling, no screaming, hardly even any tears. Just a simple, quiet "oh," as Sachiko sinks into her chair, and Matsuda hates to think that maybe it is because she has expected this all along, since losing her husband and her daughter to this case. She cries a little, and he does his awkward, level best to comfort her, all the while saying nothing about a confession and a handgun and the way gunshots echoed in the Yellow Box warehouse, because how does anyone tell a mother that it's his fault her beautiful son is dead?
"It was Kira, wasn't it?" She says, and Matsuda doesn't even think not to lie, and nods.
"My Light," she whispers, "My beautiful Light."
Standing on the doorstep outside of the Yagami household, the sun seems too bright for the day. Matsuda wonders if maybe this is better. Light wouldn't have wanted to live in prison anyway.
Or maybe he's just looking for ways to get around his guilt.
He doesn't head back toward the police station. Just starts walking, with a vague thought of continuing and continuing and continuing until he gets somewhere that is anywhere but here.